The burden of love
by RockThaWriter
Summary: If God hadn't wanted him to fall in love with a man, then he surely wanted him to love an angel – and this was exactly what Mihael did. If he would die tomorrow, at least he would die happier than before. (Catholic!Mello AU)


The capacity of his knowledge of science might have been enormous, however, in regards to his faith he believed to know as little as any other person. In spite of his efforts, Mihael struggled to comprehend God's extend of greatness and therefore spent his spare time absorbing all of the information he could get his hands on. Books, videos, recordings – the entirety of material on the Catholic God the orphanage provided.

He often fiddled with the black beads of his rosary as he read or listened to God's word. His nimble fingers clasped the Red Cross between his palms as he mumbled his prayers in the late night hours. He prayed for the wellbeing of his mother, his father, his friend Matt and himself. He prayed to have future guided by the hand of God himself, for God would be the only one to lead him to the path of the righteous.

Throughout the years, Mihael continued to pray almost every night and on very rare occasions he would be forced to refrain from doing so. However, the older he became, the more difficult it was to remain on the right path and he often slipped. The challenges God put to test his faith were sometimes laced with sinful intentions and sometimes they simply hurt too much for anyone to remain their self-perseverance. Women, money, death, failure, departures, broken dreams and crushed hopes, hurt, pain – the consequences that came to mind were much worse than the thought of hell. It was the lost trust from God which set the blond off. He couldn't imagine living in a world without the reassurance of a divine bond, something as sacred as respect towards someone of higher power. Mihael accepted every challenge, every difficult encounter as a new chance to prove himself to God.

Until the day he discovered his love for Mail Jeevas.

Mail Jeevas, commonly known as Matt or similar aliases, was his friend throughout childhood. Mail hadn't been an abandoned child – his parents have died when their apartment stood in flames and the firemen had only been able to rescue the young boy. It was all the more remarkable to Mihael that his close friend dragged him out of the exploded building, saving him from the horrible fate of Matt's parents.

Ultimately, Mihael would be in the hands of the devil if it hadn't been for Mail saving him. The moment he gained back the strength, Mihael drove to the closest church to pray to God. He remembers that night clearly, how he stood in front of the altar and simply kneeled on the ground, lifted his hands into the sky and whispered for forgiveness. From this day on, Mihael went to church every Sunday evening, begging for forgiveness when he believed no one would impose such a sin onto the great Lord Jesus.

His friend noticed his frequent ventures at night, yet never confronted Mihael about it. The only words to pass his lips regarding the topic were "Please drive safely. Don't get seen." Mihael knew that God protected him when it was the most crucial, just as He had sent Mail when the building exploded.

Two days before their planned mission on kidnapping Takada, Mail did something unusual.

"Mello, can I come with you?" he had stood at the doorway of his bedroom, in his peculiar clothes, staring at me through those orange-tinted goggles.

Mihael hesitated for a long time, realizing that his conversations with God were the most secretive and sacred moments of his life. He felt unsure whether he wanted someone, who had never felt the connection to God in his entire life, someone who most likely hated God for the things He took away from him, to participate in this heavenly ordeal. Yet, as his fingers gripped the door handle even tighter, a voice inside him encouraged him to agree. "You can come, Matt. We're taking the bike though."

When they arrived at church and Mihael sat next to Mail to pray, he had difficulties concentrating on the task at hand. Every now and then he was forced to look at Mail instead of God, to talk to him instead of God, to cherish the way he smiled when Mihael would catch the insecurity in his expression.

Mail has never prayed to God, but Mail knew what it meant to believe in God. He realized the significance of acceptance, of love and peace, a feeling only God could convey. Mail had never been able to truly believe. It was evident that he could not, for some reason, accept God's love. As if his heart was occupied by something else, but could anything be greater than God?

Mihael guided him through a prayer with the rosary, saying all the prayers out loud instead of the secretive manner he usually held his prayers in. Mail listened intensively, as if he truly wanted to understand what Mihael was saying, but couldn't. Mihael in return gazed at Mail the entire time, as though Mail's aura became heavenly.

As he spoke the last Hail Holy Queen and did the sign of the Holy Cross, Mail gave him a look which Mihael recognised as one of pure admiration. Mail moved a little closer and gently pushed back some blond hair strands. Mihael's heart began to pound loudly.

"Matt… What are you doing?"

"We're going to die in two days, Mello."

"What do you-"

"We both know that."

"…Yes," Mihael said defeated, "But why are you saying this?"

"Because," Mail whispered, stroking his thumb over the scarred skin, "I know you're scared. Mihael, are we really going through with this?"

"You… You know we have to, Mail," Mihael paused for a moment, "You know I have to."

Mail gently raised Mihael's gaze to meet his own again, a smile forming on his lips. "I know _we _have to. All I'm saying is that… It's not too late to change our plans. We can," he took a short breath, resting his forehead against Mihael's own and lowered his voice, "just leave. Run away, forget Near, forget Kira and start anew somewhere."

Mihael grimaced, frowning as he withdrew himself from Mail. "Maybe it's this easy for you, but I can't leave. I have a responsibility, I have–" he choked back tears, tearing his eyes away from Mail's captivating eyes. "I can do this on my own, Mail. You are not obligated to help."

"Don't you think I'm a little smarter than that, Mihael?"

He peeked up, searching for an explanation from the redhead.

"I have always followed you, haven't I?"

His eyes widened.

"So why shouldn't I follow you now?"

Because you will die, his mind screamed. Because you will lose everything that is precious to and I will be the one to blame and maybe I am not ready to face that.

Mihael remained speechless, eyes fixed on the floor. All he could think about was the sound of his thumping heart, the vivid green of Mail's eyes and the horrible idea of death and he began trembling. He despised this dependence on his best friend. He downright loathed it.

"Mail," he hissed, the first tears trickling down his cheeks, "Why would you die for a friend? Why would you go through with something this crazy, something this absurd?" Mihael raised his palms to the sky. "I don't understand! I don't… get it. You have time, Mail. Run away. Run away and start a life you're going to enjoy living."

The candles in the church flickered; some were blown out by the breeze, dimming the room.

"You're just the worst, Mihael," Mail laughed; a warm and sincere chuckle that felt strange; they hadn't laughed in a long time. "I hate to break it down to you, especially when we're in a church of all places, but you seem to have no idea how I feel about you."

Mail shifted closer and the air between them was too thin to breathe properly. Again, Mail's fingers had found their way to his scarred cheek, as a grim reminder of the dreadful day. His eyes flickered with the reflection of the candle light.

"I would die for you, because I am in love with you, Mihael."

It took Mihael too long to think of an appropriate answer.

"I–I can't… Mail, you're a man."

It was as though all joy had left Mail's soul in that second, as if all his hopes and dreams were crushed by this one sentence. He rose from his seat.

"I'm going to walk back home. Don't wait for me."

Mihael didn't bother to stop him.

When Mail had left, the frustration began to quell inside him. He hadn't the slightest idea how else to feel. It was completely unfair, completely maddening to think that he had let things go this far. His eyes wandered to the sight of Jesus and as he stared at him he realised this had been the most difficult test of his life.

"You can't ask this of me, Lord," he whimpered, "Please don't ask this of me. Mail is everything I have left in his life. He's the only friend I've ever had, the only one I can trust beside you and you cannot take him away from me. Please, please don't."

Mail was all he had in a world that judged him for everything he'd ever done. Mail was the only one to see his potential, his efforts, and his willpower.

Mihael pressed his hands to his face, allowing his emotions to get the better of him. He was with God right now, nothing to fear or be embarrassed of. He was just so angry – Mail was his last chance to a normal life after this mission. It was impossible to forget entirely about his statement earlier. Mail had said it with such a passion, with such sincerity and hope.

"Why are you doing this to me, Lord? Why do I have to choose now, of all times?"

When he returned to his apartment that night, Mail wasn't there. Mihael spent the whole night pondering about his next actions, about how he felt about Mail and how horrible it felt to know that somewhere on the back of his mind he knew he felt the exact same way about Mail.

On the day before the mission, Mail hadn't returned either. Mihael worked on all the preparations on his own, repeating the thought of "No, I can do this on my own, I'm okay." It wasn't until the late evening when Mihael was sat on the couch polishing his berretta that Mail sauntered through the door as if nothing had happened. However, while Mihael was happy to see him alive and well, he immediately rose to his feet to leave the room. The atmosphere between them hung like a suffocating blanket over their heads. Now that he had spent so much time pondering about a solution to this problem, he found that the thought of Mail would cause his stomach to flip.

The blond cast a long look at his gun as he stood before his bedroom. Mail had been right. They were going to die the next day and there were unspoken feelings, which couldn't have stayed unspoken any longer. If Mail had been a woman, Mihael would want her to confess these things to him, but he would not reciprocate them. Mihael has never liked a woman and he realised in that second that his heart had always been occupied by this best friend of his. He'd think of him all day when his thoughts weren't with God, he'd live his life side by side with this guy and he'd put this man through hell and back and despite everything Mail would come back, because the bond between them was stronger than any fight could break. From the core of his being, Mihael couldn't imagine a life without Mail's stupid jokes or disgusting comments. If Mail left, he would take a part of his happiness with him.

Mihael decided to turn around and go back to the living room, where he found Mail sat on the couch, legs on the table and a noodle box in his hand. Quietly, the blond approached him, though he made no direct eye contact the entire time. The gun was placed before him on the table top and Mihael settled down next to Mail. Being in Mail's presence had that strange effect on him, he would have a louder heartbeat and his body felt somewhat warmer. Back in Whammy's House he learnt those were signs of affection towards someone else. If he looked into the mirror, he'd be met with dilated eyes.

Nimble fingers traced along the beads of his rosary in thought, debating until the last second whether he was ready to do something as reckless and daring as his next action. Mail stared at him, goggles tossed aside, and Mihael saw the widening of his eyes in sheer surprise when the rosary was lifted off his head and placed neatly beside the shimmering gun.

"Mello, why did you take it off?"

"Because," he began, moving a little closer, "I'm aware that God might not agree with this, but there will never be a man I feel for more than you."

"Mello…"

"Because this," he took Mail's hand and brought it up to his scarred cheek, "this is proof enough to me."

Mail cupped his cheek, gently swiping his thumb across it. He stared into Mihael's eyes and Mihael felt his stomach twist and knot in a familiar way, but only now did he recognise the feeling.

Some blond hair strands were pushed behind his ear and Mail leant in far enough for their noses to touch. The air between them was thin, similarly to the way it had been in the church, but now he knew how to react next. Mihael places his own hand on Mail's neck, tugging him in closer. His eyes closed and he heard the small gasp and a little laugh from Mail, a sound more beautiful than anything else on this world.

Mihael smiled and with no further hesitation he pressed his lips to Mail's own chapped ones. In that moment he felt so light, as if a burden has been lifted off his shoulders and he could lose himself in the passion of his first true kiss.

If God hadn't wanted him to fall in love with a man, then he surely wanted him to love an angel – and this was exactly what Mihael did. If he would die tomorrow, at least he would die happier than before.


End file.
